Your Heart Drips the Prettiest Colours
by komaeda
Summary: In which Mikan is chosen to serve the douchiest god of all time. Some say it's fate – Mikan says it's just bad luck.
1. Nightcall

Death. From time to time, Mikan found herself wondering the logistics behind it. What was a person's final moments like? What happened after? What would happen to her? She had so much free time in her life, that her mind often gravitated towards the topic; considering the fact that her life simply revolved around death.

Entertain this:

The road, freshly paved with tar, contains the chalk outline to someone's sprawled body. A young police officer, recently graduated, nervously stands guard and helps redirect traffic while another zips up a body bag. Agents inspect the scene, kneeling against the sidewalk to trace the blood splatter, while a photographer captures the scene within the lens of his professional camera. The body is slammed into the back of a van and they drive away.

That's what the mention of death usually springs to a person's mind: the grisly details, a thrilling murder mystery, taking up the front page of the paper. Sometimes there are thoughts of the person's loved ones, if any.

But to Mikan, a person who had never died, death was a different matter. For starters, death was a person. And he wanted Mikan more than anything.

How did it feel? How did it feel to be wanted by death, lusted after, loved by?

She hated it. She hated every second of it; waiting for the day Death would grow bored of waiting and have her sacrificed to him, where God-knows-what would happen after. Mikan was sure her final moments would be spun off the linear track, the two minutes it would take for her to die would be spent thinking of her regrets.

She'd never meet her family. She'd never get to hang out with friends. She'd never get her own adventure.

Somewhere else on the Earth, a young boy watched his sister get dragged away by scary men with masks, and when he reached out to touch the surface of the river, he created a ripple.

* * *

Daily bathing was something she had grown up with. Her body was wrapped in clean cloth as she waited for the priests to finish their blessings and waft their disgusting incense over her, while the head priest would stand at the front of the bath, eyes closed and muttering things Mikan had heard a thousand times only. Alongside him were several other attendants, dressed in white, and muttering the same things. Mikan only wished they would say their prayers faster.

Her body was meant to be as pure as the temple, saved only for the gods she served.

So while other attendants and children would have the chance to run amuck, get dirty, wear whatever clothing they wished, did _anything they wanted_ –– Mikan was left to prepare for the day she turned eighteen. And if she couldn't simply wander about the temple and bathe with normal soaps like other children, Mikan felt like the least they could do would be to say their damn prayers faster.

With two pairs of hands holding her arms, the attendants lifted her gently out of the water, treating her skin as if it was made of glass – like touching too hard would cause her to break, shattering into thousands of scattered pieces amongst the marble floor. Maybe she'd slip into the cracks to never be seen again. She offered them a grateful smile, but it went unnoticed when they begin to unwrap the binding to towel her dry.

Until the supposed endgame to this all, there was to be no physical contact, either, aside from the occasional helping hand from those who had been deemed 'pure' enough to touch her. And even so, it was only in fleeting touches. Helping her out of the bath, giving her clothes, checking her temperature; the only times she had been held out of comfort were glancing touches from her best friend, Hotaru.

What had she done to deserve this?

Absolutely nothing. It was more like 'what had someone else done'?

Following tradition, all infants were to be brought to the temple on the first day of spring for blessings. From there, they would choose their guardians for the next 18 years. In an orderly fashion, the babies would be held to observe the statues in their line of vision, each representing the god and deities they worshipped. Most children would smile, squirm, in recognition.

Mikan didn't react at all when her turn came. Thinking it was some kind of accident, the priests did the walk with her several times, to no avail. She was silent, calm, still. They couldn't coax any sort of reaction from the girl.

She never chose a god.

Instead, one chose her.

While the priests fussed over her, confused as to why she was not reacting the way she was supposed to, a statue fell.

The god of death had spoken his words via falling face first onto the floor, angled towards the baby as if reaching for her. Upon further inspection, the priests realised there had been no damage to either the statue or the baby. Instead, she'd promptly fallen asleep.

But that wasn't the end of it. In the corner of the hall, a baby started coughing. Louder, the coughing got louder, even violent, the baby squirming and reaching with chubby fingers for some kind of release. The poor thing's face was going purple, little lungs working as hard as they could to get the air in. Other babies began to wail from the noise, their mothers doing their best to quieten their children despite the panic in their eyes.

The baby coughed until their lungs burst.

Nothing like this had ever happened before – and it was too dramatic to ignore.

"It appears a god has chosen this child," the head priest had finally spoken, his voice, grim, booming over the silence. "The god of death."

There was hardly any convincing needed to get Mikan's mother to forfeit custody in order for her to be handed over to the temple. She was merely relieved that her child would be of some use to the wider world with a fair compensation in return. If only she knew what she was getting her child into.

Of course, Mikan wasn't the only child to be plucked from her family; though she was certainly the only child with this kind of luck (if it could even be called luck). She'd met the others, seeing them around the temple when she was escorted to and from various classes, but there was only one she was friends with.

Hotaru Imai was a pretty girl. Her jet black hair was cropped short, her appearance was always immaculate, and her eyes were like dazzling amethysts when the light hit them from the right angle. That's what Mikan had described them as when they had first met, anyway. She was extremely intelligent, perhaps too smart for her own good, and had been gifted a lab within the temple at the mere age of seven, due to her father's request of both keeping her close, and encouraging her studies. As one of the people who funded the temple, Hotaru's father certainly had power.

Now, she used that miniature computer in that head of hers to start a small empire within the temple, inventing hit items in the outside world and earning quite a profit, even using the money to occasionally buy Mikan gifts. They were the closest she got to the outside world, and Hotaru seemed to understand that. It was a little too much for Mikan to wrap her head around.

Now dressed and ready to leave, Mikan was quick to make it to the door.

"Not so fast, young lady." Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach, and she grimaced, preparing herself for the worst. What could it be this time – extra classes? Extended bath times? Less Hotaru visits? The head priest continued to stare her down. "You forgot to strap your shoes."

With a grateful smile, Mikan dropped to the floor to strap them properly, exhaling a shaky breath as she did so. Her body felt almost numb from the relief. Then, she bolted straight out of there.

The halls underneath the temple were easy to navigate considering she'd lived there all her life. To a newcomer, however, it would be nothing short of a labyrinth. There were various stairways leading to nowhere, twists and turns at every corner, and various dead ends and offices.

Hotaru's lab was on the very bottom floor. Where one would expect dim lighting and grimy surfaces, however, there were clean, white bench tops and walls, and not a speck of dust to be found. Mikan always found herself wondering how she kept this up.

"Hotaru!" She called out in a sing-song voice, not bothering to smother the grin on her lips. This was how she felt every time she entered Hotaru's lab – it was just so _her_. It made Mikan happy, needless to say. She tinkered with an object on the table nearest to her while she waited: a small mouse on wheels. It wasn't unusual for Hotaru to invent animal themed objects, but she still wondered what it was for.

There was a _bang!_ and a sigh from an obscured part of the room, and before Mikan had the chance to ask what it was, Hotaru walked into view, immaculate as ever.

"He's an idiot."

Mikan blinked. "What?"

"That idiot back there." Mikan looked behind the other's shoulder, though she could see nothing but glaring white.

"I don't see anyone, Hotaru."

Hotaru didn't say anything, merely rolling her eyes, before turning around to walk the way she came. Mikan took that as an invitation to follow (not that she really needed one). Hotaru lead them to the back of the lab, behind a wall filled with blueprints – there, down on his knees and shuffling boxes, was a boy her age with blood red eyes.

That was the first thing she noticed about him. The second was his hair, messy, like he'd just run his hands through it, a black as dark as Hotaru's. The third was how pretty he looked. Mikan didn't even realise she was staring until a cocky smirk pulled at the edges of his mouth, an eyebrow raised, and Mikan blinked, turning back to Hotaru for some sort of explanation.

"That's Hyuuga."

She pursed her lips. "Oh. You've never talked about him before," Mikan's brows furrowed.

"I don't make it a habit to talk about idiots."

"But you talk about me all the time," she grinned. "Does he come here often?"

"He's right here, you know." Another voice all but growled at them, and Mikan's gaze snapped back to the boy.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mikan said earnestly, having been taught the proper manners by the priests before she could even talk. There was a gentle smile on her lips, a kind air about her, but the boy only sneered. "Do you help Hotaru often?"

"Help is hardly the right word," Hotaru answered bluntly, "he just comes in to deliver parts. I'd say he knows the black market like the back of his hand, if I didn't know any better."

"At least I'm better than the great Imai at something." 'Hyuuga' got to his feet, schooling his features to remain calm and devoid of any of the annoyance he was feeling. His gaze lingered on Mikan, however. "You still need me for that… thing, don't you?"

"Later."

Mikan looked at Hotaru, scrutinising the two of them for a few moments. He seemed on more than just business partner terms than Hotaru was letting on, considering Hotaru didn't let anyone insult her so freely. In fact, he seemed to hardly care about any sort of repercussions. Like he was invincible.

She dropped the matter, though, figuring it was just something business related instead. God only knew that Mikan was useless at the sort of thing. Maybe it had something to do with the black market.

The boy nodded curtly, before making his grand exit via picking up the case by his side and walking towards the door, leaving an unaffected Hotaru and a confused Mikan.

"Who was that guy?"

Hotaru began to pull out various tools from around her lab. "Like I said – some idiot. His name's Natsume Hyuuga."

"Are you… friends?"

She rolled her eyes like Mikan's stupidity was painful. "We're working on a project together. I wouldn't call that friendship."

Mikan smiled as she found the only photograph Hotaru kept in the room; a picture of the two of them taken back when they were 13. Hotaru had fashioned a camera, in secret, as most of her projects were, and had allowed Mikan free reign so long as they kept it between the two of them. 13 year old Mikan had a huge grin on her face, hair tied in pigtails, with her arm wrapped around a 13 year old Hotaru with the tiniest of smiles. It was one of the best days of Mikan's life.

"What kind of project?" Mikan asked, still smiling fondly at the picture as she placed it back on its perch.

Hotaru raised a brow. "Since when were you interested?"

"Since I have nothing better to do."

Hotaru pulled out a blueprint, "it's a personal project."

"Personal?" Now it was Mikan's turn to raise a brow, regarding her friend suspiciously. "You always tell me everything."

"It's personal on his part," was Hotaru's swift reply, "though I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

"Hmm, sounds fun. I look forward to it."

Hotaru turned to look at Mikan, an amused (amused being a loose term, as Hotaru was hardly capable of allowing such a feat) expression skewing her features. "Don't you have lessons to get to? As I recall, it's almost 11:30."

Mikan blinked, grinning sheepishly. "This was supposed to be a quick visit, really. I'll come back the next time I have a chance though, promise."

"You've got five minutes, if you're quick." That was all Hotaru said, turning back to her projects, and Mikan all but ran to her first class, ignoring the dark haired boy who slipped into the lab after her.

* * *

Sumire Shouda's day was going good. Well, as good as a bad day could go.

She'd woken up far too early due to her cheesy alarm, her phone had died minutes after she'd left the house, and her annoying neighbour, Koko, had squirted water on her 'accidentally' while playing with his kid cousins, effectively ruining her new shirt.

"Ugh – what the fuck?!" Sumire's glare was cutting, a crease between her brows as she stared the other down hard. Kokoro Yome was a reckless boy, with sandy blonde hair and dirt was always somewhere on his body; he was always grinning, and his favourite pastime was to get on Sumire's nerves whenever the opportunity presented itself. All she wanted to do was grab the picket fence between them and stab the pointy end through his chest.

Koko grinned, as if reading her mind. "Just adding the extra touches to your outfit. Certainly jazzes it up – it's the new fashion, I hear."

"What, having ugly, nosy neighbours get you wet?"

He waggled his eyebrows, "my, my, Permy. At least buy me dinner first."

Sumire felt the heat creep up her neck, and she straightened up in both alarm and embarrassment. "What – that's not what I meant, and you know it! Just get lost already!" She threw her arms up in frustration when his grin just seemed to widen, letting out a groan. "And don't call me Permy!"

"Whatever you say, Permy."

She turned on her heel, nose in the air as she walked off, sticking her middle finger up behind her. It would probably only fuel his ego even more, give him something else to laugh about, but in that moment it made Sumire feel just a little bit better. Like she'd had the last word.

This had all been on her way to pick up a few things at her mother's request for her trip later that evening; essentials such as a new toothbrush, snacks, and pleasantries being hastily stuffed into Sumire's purse after paying. That is, after her first card was rejected.

"I'm so – ugh – sorry." She rummaged around her purse, sending an apologetic glance towards the cashier, who, in turn, made no response. Her fingers finally found her other card, buried deep beneath various lipsticks and candy wrappers, saved for only emergencies (and this certainly qualified as such).

It was as if the whole world was attuned to her bad mood, reflecting and affecting the world around her. Rain had started to pour on the way home (she swore she heard thunder, it was either that or a garbage bin being pulled out) and she'd scowled, walking a little faster. The streets were rather dark and gloomy despite only being 3pm.

So it was a relief to get inside shelter after all that. She sucked in a deep breath the second she got through the front door, her curly hair wet and limp by the sides of her face.

"Honey – my, look at you! Did you shower with your clothes on, or something?" Mrs Shouda popped her head from the kitchen door, drinking in the sight of her daughter with a wary gaze.

"Or something," Sumire mumbled as she started on the stairs.

"I was just going to tell you that I'll drop you at the train station in an hour. Do make sure to clean yourself up, though; your uncle hasn't seen you in _years_. Don't make a bad impression – for all of our sakes."

Sumire rolled her eyes, but decided to bite her tongue, her retort dying on her tongue. Her mother meant well – that was what Sumire tried to tell herself, anyway, but that was probably far from the truth. Maybe she meant well for herself.

She trudged her way up the stairs and into her room to dump her stuff, peeling the layers of wet clothes off her as she turned on the shower. Hopefully that would wash away the bad mood of the day and down the drain.

Fate had other plans, however. But more on that later.

Sumire had then gotten started on finishing up her packing, adding in her new buys and last minute items, as well as her cousin's specifications. 'An extra outfit' was all Hotaru had said, alongside 'put it at the top of your suitcase. I'll need it as soon as I see you'. For someone so specific, it sure was vague.

But Sumire wasn't dumb enough to argue or question her cousin, so instead she lazily stuffed in the extra outfit.

* * *

Mikan woke to a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up, bleary eyed, to find the source to be none other than Hotaru Imai herself. To any other person, Hotaru Imai looked fine, calm and collected as ever. But to Mikan, she could tell that something wasn't right. Namely the hard shape of her jaw, the slight twitch of her fingers as she helped to sit Mikan up gently, the fact that Hotaru Imai was being this gentle in the first place.

"Hotaru? Wh–what's the time?"

She felt dizzy and weak, like her body had not followed her brain out of slumber. There was the vague sense that she had dreamed something unpleasant, a distant memory of her final thoughts before drifting off – something to do with candy.

"Just after nine."

Mikan blinked. "I only fell asleep at eight." Then, her eyes narrowed. "Who died, Hotaru? Did your old man finally kick the bucket?"

Hotaru rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I would be celebrating if he had, wouldn't I?"

"Maybe you woke me for the celebrations."

She tugged on Mikan's arm, ignoring her last comment, and helped to pull her to her feet. "Stop wasting time; we only have half an hour." She began to drag her towards the door, light pooling from the hallway that led from Mikan's cramped room to the rest of the temple.

"Half an hour 'till what?"

Hotaru turned to meet her gaze. "You'll see. Now, be quiet, and follow me." She began to lead the pair of them down the hall, both soft on their feet like thieves in the night despite Mikan's entire lack of grace. She was like an elephant on her feet most of the time. But desperate times call for desperate measures, she figured, and she held her breath as they rounded the corner.

Of course, there was no one there – why on Earth would the priests be patrolling the halls to the temple at this time of night? Surely no one was going to break in, she thought. Then again, Mikan had never really snuck out of her own room to find out before.

It took Mikan a handful of minutes to figure out where they were heading. "Why are we going to your lab?" She hissed, and Hotaru shushed her as the sounds of footsteps neared.

"Someone's coming, quick – in here." They ducked into an empty closet, and Mikan found herself rather cosy with the local mop squeezed between the pair of them.

"Why are we hiding?" Mikan whispered, "they won't punish me for walking around at night. And if they do we can just say I was going to the bathroom."

"Do you even have a brain in there? Explain me, silly."

"You were going to the bathroom, too?" Mikan didn't need a light to know that Hotaru was rolling her eyes. "Now would be the perfect time to tell me what's going on."

"Now would be the perfect time to be quiet."

Mikan did as she was told, in perfect timing, too, because the footsteps seemed to get louder as they passed. What if they were going to check on her? What if they found her bed empty – what then?

"Let's go."

They walked quickly and quietly down the remainder of the stairs and the few twists and turns left, and soon enough, they were face to face with the plated 'Hotaru Imai' sign.

The lab was exactly the same as Mikan had last seen it – save the minor detail of the boy standing in the middle of it, arms folded across his chest and looking absolutely bored. She noticed that the mouse on wheels was gone, too, but she thought nothing of it. Surely Hotaru must've packed it away.

"You're five minutes early, Imai."

"I like to be ahead of schedule," she brushed him off with ease, "everything fine on your end?"

"Of course."

Hotaru seemed to be scrutinising him for a moment, as if deciding if he was telling the truth or not. "I would hope so."

His eyes then rounded on Mikan, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the lab in nothing but a simple nightdress. She suddenly felt quite self-conscious, and she fiddled with some sort of spoon contraption near by. "How far away is Shouda?"

"She said she'd be down here the second she got away from my father." She glanced at the clock, "so about two and a half more minutes."

Those two and a half minutes couldn't've gone by more slowly. Mikan had absolutely no idea what was going on, who the boy in the middle of Hotaru's lab was, and what Hotaru's cousin had to do with any of this. As far as she was concerned, Sumire Shouda and Hotaru Imai didn't even get along!

The girl had been mentioned once or twice in passing, until one summer, Sumire had been toured around the underskirts of the temple par her uncle's request. Mikan had only glimpsed her briefly, but eleven year old Sumire Shouda was a sight to behold. Her hair had been long and dark, her cheeks rosy and her skin pale, she was thin but had a terrific smile. Mikan had wanted to befriend her immediately.

And here she stood now, six years later. Her lashes were thick with perfect mascara, only one or two flecks speckled on her lower lid (due to the ride over and the time of night, Mikan supposed), and her skin was flawless; still pale. But the biggest change of all was her hair. It was rather short at the back, now, with longer strands towards the front, and the colour was such a deep green that highlighted the red of her lips. She was beautiful.

And pissed off.

"Your clothes, Imai." Her tone was unintentionally cutting, but she'd blame that on the lack of sleep and the low tolerance she had for her uncle and his family. Hotaru and Sumire were oil and water. Or oxygen and oil – explosive when they mixed.

She immediately brightened when her gaze fell on the boy, suddenly looking a lot more awake than she had been three seconds ago. Mikan swore she even batted her lashes at him.

Hotaru resisted the urge to roll her eyes, taking the bundle from her cousin and placing it straight into Mikan's arms. "Change into these."

"Huh – why?"

"You ask too many questions. Just do as I say, we're behind schedule by thirty seconds now."

Mikan eyed every person in the room, from Hotaru's cool gaze to the boy's uninterested stare. Really, who was he?

She swallowed nervously, "um, okay. I'll be a second." Ducking behind one of the many benches, and far away from potential prying eyes, Mikan inspected the clothes she'd been given. They were outsider clothes, garments the priests had never allowed her to wear after they'd deemed them 'impure'. She'd only ever glimpsed such fashion from the casual visitor every now and then.

"Hotaru?" She called out, swallowing the nervousness in her throat. "How– how am I supposed to wear these?"

Footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls, Hotaru's flats clicking against the tiles. Then, there were gentle hands by her sides, the collected being of Hotaru Imai there to show her how the jeans worked. Mikan had never worn pants – let alone denim – in her life due to her pure upbringing; it was all very strange, but straightforward enough for Mikan to muster on her own.

She stepped out, clad in a jacket a size too big and a loose fitted shirt, and jeans that seemed to fit around her waist nicely. Her arms hung lamely at her sides, unsure of everything – how she looked, what she was doing, _what the hell was going on_. If only the priests could see her now. She tried to imagine their faces; their jaws dropping or going bright red in the face, screaming about how Mikan had been exposed to something so dirty.

It almost made her laugh. Almost.

Mikan had that feeling that everyone was looking at her again, the entire world's eyes on her back as if they all knew what she'd done. She felt dirty, impure, and sort of... exhilarated? The thought of doing something wrong, something normal, was an exciting thought, the feeling sinking into her bones and lighting up her stomach. A lopsided grin curved her lips as she looked towards the group now gathered around Hotaru.

The boy straightened up when he noticed her presence, the spark in his eyes giving away his mask of indifference. "Let's go."

"Hyuuga, you're coming with me. Mikan – lead Sumire out of the back entrance. Meet us there in nine minutes." Mikan's smile died on her lips, furrowing her brows instead.

Hotaru made a start to leave, but Mikan stopped her. "Where are you going?"

She turned, her lips tugging into a tight line. "Everything will become clear in precisely nine minutes. Now, go."

* * *

And Mikan did see. She'd lead Sumire through the empty, dimly lit halls underneath the temple, and out across the lawn that stretched behind the temple. No one was around, and Mikan couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

They waited behind the pillars near the back entrance with their breaths caught in their throats, their eyes never straying from the doors. They were waiting for a sign, for Hotaru and the boy, for anything that would give them a clue as to what was _fuck_ was going on.

"Do you know what's going on?" Mikan whispered into the bleak space around them, and Sumire shook her head.

"Hotaru wouldn't tell me a thing. Whatever it is, it must be important."

Mikan pursed her lips, shifting uncomfortably. "She usually tells me everything. But I suppose you're right – Hotaru wouldn't do something if it wasn't in her benefit." It was more of a reassurance to herself than anything. She glanced towards the doors again. "Time?"

"It's been eight minutes."

Sumire watched the seconds tick by on her phone, eyes glued to it, paralyzed in her spot.

Twenty seconds.

"I hear something." Mikan tensed in panic, eyes wide as she watched the door. It was like she'd forgotten to breathe.

Ten seconds.

"Sumire – what are we going to do? I can't get caught like this!"

Sumire looked up in panic, glanced down at her phone again, then shot Mikan a fearful look.

It had been exactly nine minutes on the dot. And nothing happened.

Sumire's hand balled into a fist by her sides, hissing through her teeth. "Damn it, Imai!"

There was a _bang!_ as the door flew open, hitting the wall, panicked footsteps as Hotaru and Natsume ran through the darkness. Someone grabbed Mikan's hand and pulled as she began to run alongside them. "What – the – hell?!" Mikan said breathlessly, sparing a glance back at the door.

"Don't have time to explain – run!"

There was noise, colours, as the group ran into the streets of the nearby city, indistinguishable chatter filling the air. There were people everywhere, shopping, selling, talking. Mikan wished she could stop and drink it all in, having never been allowed this far into civilisation, but the endless tugging continued and they ran. She saw women spritzing themselves with perfume, sniffing, wondrous scents and smells dancing around and hitting Mikan's senses. She saw people eating delicious looking food, walking home from a long day at work. It was beginning to get dizzying, tiring.

As soon as Mikan thought that she was going to faint, they stopped. They ducked into a nearby building, and Mikan's knees promptly gave out. "Someone care to explain?" She all but demanded, settling herself against the adjacent wall and glaring up at the group. The boy was running his hands through his hair, leaning against the wall, Sumire was brushing her clothes off, panting, and Hotaru was standing in the middle of it all, eerily calm.

She looked Mikan straight in the eye. "The head priest – he's dead."

* * *

and it's out! due to the combined efforts of many tentative and few solid plans, i've finally started the real version of this story :+) now don't expect anything till like… christmas

to think that this all started from 'hey here's a cool idea: mikan having to serve a rly douchey god called natsume'

& you'll notice i actually used proper capitalization thanks to popular demand (i'm still not happy abt it but at least the author's notes are still under my democratic control) so uh remember to rate the update, comment the update, and subscribe if you want to see updates similar to this one


	2. Mikan of Castile

warning for dark alleyways and sketchy guys – you'll know when the part comes, so feel free to skip it! nothing graphic happens, but you can never be too careful.

Chapter 2 - "Mikan of Castile"

Or

"The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly"

Mikan felt like the world had stopped. Like all the colour, all the feeling, all the sounds, and smells had completely disappeared for a few fateful moments. Her eyes were wide and she could vaguely hear her heart hammer against her ribcage, and that was what brought her out of her reverie.

"Dead?" Mikan echoed, her voice sounding surprisingly hollow despite the throbbing that filled her chest.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Annoyance seeped into Hotaru's tone, but it didn't take another Imai to figure out that Hotaru was just as unnerved as the rest of them, rather she was just better at hiding it. If Mikan was thinking straight, she might've taken the time to be envious of her ability to remain calm and collected. Especially when it was her _father_ they were talking about.

Mikan knew that Hotaru had never had the best of relationships with her father; their lives both centered mainly around their own work, his more so than Hotaru's. Where Hotaru had space for Mikan, her father had none. Hotaru would say that her father could be replaced with anyone else and she wouldn't mind, so long as she had that sort of figure in her life to provide her with the workspace she needed.

Mikan felt that Hotaru didn't believe that fully. There must've be some part of her that wanted a real relationship with him, surely, especially when she would see Mikan everyday; a constant reminder that her best friend was a girl without any sort of parental figure in her life. Hotaru was the type of person who would be smart enough to make the most of what others don't have.

So if Hotaru's mask of indifference was beginning to crack, Mikan didn't even want to look at Sumire.

But first, a word about Sumire Shouda:

If you've ever witnessed how seeing an Audrey Hepburn movie might affect a person's life, you might be able to understand Sumire Shouda just the slightest bit better. She was beautiful, though she was also the type of person who would be even more so if she didn't try so hard sometimes. Her beauty was the type of beauty that one passing glance in the street or in the park would make you remember her for the rest of your life.

Her hair was effortlessly sleek and her lashes thick and dark, she was tall with a willowy build, her skin was perfect, a fact which she would attribute to healthy eating, though really, was probably related to good genes than anything else.

So despite projecting an outward air of perfection, Sumire Shouda was one of the most melodramatic people one could ever meet. She was so melodramatic, she could _die_.

"What happened?" Sumire all but demanded. "What happened back there? Why is my uncle–" She takes a breath. "Why is my uncle dead?"

Kudos to her for actually holding herself together.

"Imai–" Natsume shot a warning look towards Hotaru, who completely ignored it.

"I don't know."

Mikan didn't think she could get anymore surprised tonight. Funny how the world continuously liked to prove her wrong. Hotaru Imai admitting that she didn't know something was like the moon being made of cheese – it just didn't happen. It was impossible.

"You don't know?!"

"Imai," Natsume interrupts impatiently, "we don't have a lot of time."

"I know that. But do you really think they're in a position to run when they're like this?"

Mikan furrows her brows, still clearly dazed from everything that had happened in the last few hours. Now there was more? "Run? Where are we going this time? I thought we were staying here."

"See? The idiot's hardly in the right mindframe to go anywhere – and are you forgetting the conditions she's grown up in?" Hotaru hissed to Natsume, quiet enough for Mikan to have to strain to hear it. "Give her time to adjust."

Natsume didn't look happy, but he kept his mouth shut.

"What happened?" Sumire tried again, and this time Mikan actually turned to look at her. Sumire's dark lashes were wet with the tears she'd been trying to keep in, and there was a shattering look of heartbreak, confusion, and rage on her features. Where Hotaru kept her private emotions bottled up internally, to be released through her determination to make use of her abilities, Sumire Shouda wore her emotions on her sleeve where everyone could see. Kind of like a designer handbag.

Mikan was honestly surprised the girl hadn't lost it already.

Hotaru pulled an object out of the bag that had been placed delicately on the floor. When she held it up, Mikan recognised it to be the mouse-thing she'd found lying around Hotaru's lab earlier that day.

"This, is a mouscopter." She said matter-of-factly. "It's generally used as an inconspicuous and portable camera and recording device. In this instance, I've used it in the rooms around my father's office to see if I can find anything–"

"Incriminating?!" Sumire's yelp died on her lips when she received a glare for being interrupted.

"Useful," Hotaru continued like she'd never been interrupted in the first place, "or to know when my father was going to be within the room."

"Okay…" Mikan bit down on her lower lip. "But why?"

Hotaru's gaze softened, though it was a look that was easily missed by all but Mikan. It was meant to offer reassurance, and Mikan was suddenly glad that Hotaru was going to be by her side in this mess, as Mikan herself was going to be by Hotaru's side, too.

It was extremely comforting to know that no matter how deep they got into this mess (a mess which seemed to have gotten a lot more complicated than it was originally supposed to be), they'd have each other's backs. Even if Hotaru Imai could be entirely selfish sometimes and leave Mikan to die, she wouldn't. Just as how Mikan could be entirely self-sacrificing sometimes, she'd do everything she could to stay by Hotaru's side.

No matter what.

"I can't tell you that yet. What I can tell you, however, is that my father was not supposed to die. I don't know why you're sniffling over this, _Shouda_ , you barely knew him."

"He was still family." Sumire muttered darkly.

Hotaru held her head high, and continued on as if discussing business and not talking about her newly deceased father. "He was already dead when we got there."

"Why were you even in there in the first place?"

"There were some things in there that we needed. They're nothing to worry about."

Mikan knew that if she was feeling more up to scratch, her curiousity would be burning her from the inside out. She'd be demanding real answers and not settling for anything remotely vague. Once Mikan's curiousity got its claws on something, she wouldn't – _couldn't_ – let it go until she was satisfied. The same would be for this once Mikan had finally processed the fact that she was out in the real world, the head priest was dead, and she was now off on some kind of weird adventure. It was entirely surreal.

"Imai." She'd almost forgotten about the boy's presence. He pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards Hotaru, standing behind her with an air of impatience. "Imai, the boat leaves at 11."

"You think I'd forget, Hyuuga?"

His lips lifted in a well-worn smirk. "You'll have to run out of space in that brain one day."

Hotaru said nothing in return, though her icy glare did not leave the impression that Natsume had had the last say. Instead, Hotaru picked up the small bag, placing the mouscopter back inside, and slinging the strap over her shoulder. She turned to Mikan expectantly.

"Stop moping. We have things to do."

Mikan nodded, pulling herself to her feet, despite the uncertainty she felt inside and the entire unknown ahead of her. But Mikan prided herself on the ability to always see the good in things, to view every step as a new adventure, and to place trust in her best friend. Determination flared up inside the pit of her stomach, overpowering her anxiety.

Sumire, however, was a completely different story. "No way. I didn't sign up to get dragged along like this – I'm going home!"

"Home is the last place you want to be," Natsume sneered, "when you've already fled a crime scene."

Sumire's face twisted in a look of rage despite Natsume being the one to break the news to her, before pulling herself to her feet and sulking.

"Where are we going?" Mikan asked, not really expecting an answer in return.

"The docks." Hotaru replied. "We have a boat to catch."

* * *

Hotaru took the lead of their small group, acting like someone else's definition of normal – where her head would normally be held high and she'd have an air of indifference about her, she couldn't exactly stand out when she was now supposed to be in hiding.

Sumire was behind her, still sulking, but wasn't taking it far enough to be at the back of the group where she could wander off.

Natsume had tried to take the position at the back, but Mikan had decided that it was her business to find out who this guy was. She knew his name, that he was possibly involved in smuggling or something, and that he'd worked with Hotaru before. The latter was what made her the most curious. Hotaru never let anyone treat her the way he treated her, walking the thin line between snarky and downright rude. It made Mikan determined to find out what their relationship was, despite Hotaru's insistence earlier that there was no relationship, or what made him so special.

"Take a picture." Natsume said dryly, causing Mikan to blink up in surprise. "It'll last longer."

"Huh?"

"You're staring."

"Oh." Another sincere apology on Mikan's part. "I'm sorry! I was thinking."

"That can't be good."

"Excuse me?"

Natsume didn't answer. He gave her a side glance that made her feel like she was being judged, and she was surprised with herself when she realised she kind of cared what he thought. Maybe it was because she'd never seen a boy so… pretty in her life, with his deep, red eyes and messy hair. He looked like he didn't even try.

"Any reason why you're back here and not with Imai?"

"Yeah, there is actually!" Mikan said cheerfully. "How do you know Hotaru?"

For a second, it looked like he wasn't going to answer. He ran a hand through his dark hair, that, like him, never seemed to be willing to cooperate. A sigh escaped his lips, and he kept his eyes fixed ahead of him "Business."

"What kind of business?"

"Business that little girls like you shouldn't stick their nose into."

"I'm not a little girl – and that rhymed!"

Natsume stuck his hands into his pockets, and he resisted the urge to pinch his nose out of frustration. Why was he stuck on babysitting duty? "Do I even need to further my case?"

He'd expected a noise of protest, confusion, or maybe a playful shove. What he didn't expect was silence.

Natsume turned his head, only to see a blank space where Mikan had been standing moments earlier. Panic building in his system, he whipped his head around to see if she had simply wandered off slightly, intrigued by the little night stalls littering the street, or the multi-coloured lights on every corner. He wouldn't really blame her if she had. If he had been locked in a temple all his life, he'd be fascinated by someone selling mini fans, too.

"Imai," he called, "we have a problem."

Hotaru hadn't heard him, continuing to blend in with the crowd, but Sumire had. After a quick tap on her shoulder from Sumire, Hotaru paused to look at him.

"What?"

"Your friend's missing."

Hotaru shot him a glare. "How the hell do you lose a person, Hyuuga?"

People were jostling past them awkwardly now that they had stopped in the middle of a crowded walkway, and Sumire was the only one with enough initiative at the moment to mutter apologies as she dragged the both of them towards a less busy section near a nearby wall.

"Are you two both forgetting that we're already in trouble for walking out on a crime scene?" Sumire gave Natsume a rather pointed look as she said this, paying him back for earlier. "Now you're going to get us in even more for _losing_ Mikan! As if corrupting her wasn't bad enough..."

Hotaru tried to ignore Sumire. "Hyuuga, you're the one who lost Mikan."

"You're the one who knows her best."

"Which is why she's probably just wandered off. We'll go on ahead." She held her hand up when Natsume parted his lips to protest. "Meet us at the dock _with_ Mikan." With that, Hotaru grabbed ahold of Sumire's wrist and started to drag her along. Before Natsume could even begin to process Hotaru's lack of worry, she'd paused again. "Oh, and Hyuuga? Don't be late."

And that's how Hotaru Imai and Sumire Shouda left a scowling Natsume behind in the night markets.

Really, how did he end up playing babysitter?

* * *

Mikan had simply gotten lost within the crowd. One minute, she'd been bantering with Natsume, the next, she'd somehow lost track of her friends. Having never been in public before, let alone navigating a crowd, caused Mikan to panic in the ocean of people. It was hard not to stare, transfixed, at the happenings around her. It was also hard not to burst into fearful tears right on the spot.

She'd willed her legs to move, putting one step in front of the other, and following the general direction of the way they were originally going, aided by the people moving forward with her. One look at a street sign meant absolutely nothing to her. She had no clue where she was, where her friends were, where the dock was – anything. She was utterly lost.

"Oh, Mikan." She groaned to herself, almost hitting her face with her hand. How could she get so lost?

"Hey little girl." A voice rung out. Mikan turned her head to locate the source, her gaze falling on two men with dark, bagging clothing, and hungry smiles on their lips. "Are you lost?"

Relief flooded Mikan's senses. She walked towards them, a grateful smile pulling at her lips – these people could help her! "Yes, I am actually. I don't know where my friends are!"

The men looked at each other, before one of them stepped forward. He was skinny, with sand coloured hair, and a general, seedy air about him. "Where are you headin'?"

"The docks!"

"Well, you're in luck. I know a shortcut." He motioned to a dark alleyway nearby, and Mikan, having never heard the stories of dark alleyways before, was more than happy to follow them.

One of the many things about Mikan was that she was always able to see the good in people. Whether or not this was a result of the genetic lottery or the fact that she grew up around a bunch of priests, no one was really sure. That's not to say they didn't appreciate it. But there are times when one must really ignore the good (if any) in people and get the hell out of there.

"Oh, thank you!" Mikan gushed. Why had the priests sheltered her from the world? People were so kind, so caring ––– these people had to be deemed pure, right?

The shadows within the alleyway seemed to stretch on, mostly due to the fact that it was far from the market lights and, thus, civilisation. That produced no worry for Mikan, even when they led her deep enough within the alleyway that no one would dare to look, nor care, to see if anything funny was going on.

Rounding on her, the smaller of the men smiled a toothy grin, despite missing a few of them himself, while the other was quick to grab Mikan's wrist.

"Wh–"

That was the only sound that escaped Mikan's lips before all air was knocked out of her. The bigger man of the two had effectively pinned Mikan against the wall, and Mikan, being Mikan, had absolutely no idea what the deal was.

"Could you put me down please?"

The two men couldn't believe it. A pretty girl, willingly following them into the world's shadiest place, not even bothering to put up a fight? It was too good to be true!

Before the men could do anything beyond pinning Mikan to a wall, a punch was thrown from neither of them. A simple movement of Natsume's arm as his fist came into contact with the man farthest from Mikan (though, they were both pretty close) was all that was needed to throw him to the ground. After all, the man was very skinny, and Natsume was very pissed off.

Really, it _was_ too good to be true.

His friend being thrown to the ground was all that was needed for the bigger man to back away from Mikan, and with a fearful look at Natsume, then at his skinnier companion, then back at Natsume, he bolted. The other was quick to pull himself to his feet and scamper off, too.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Natsume snapped, red eyes boring into brown.

"That I was going to the dock." Mikan scoffed. "I'm not scared of you, you know, so you can quit the tough guy act, okay?"

Natsume scowled, before grabbing Mikan's wrist and dragging her the way they came, not bothering to listen to her protests – she clearly couldn't protect herself if she thought that following strange men into dark alleyways was an 'alright idea'. "You have no idea how much shit you could've been in, do you?"

"Was I supposed to?" Mikan replied defensively. "Are you forgetting I wasn't raised in the real world?"

"Pretty hard to forget when you're pulling stunts like that. Here's a life lesson for you: if you feel the need to get lost again, just stay still. It's easier to find you that way."

"But you still found me!"

" _After_ you followed sketchy guys into a dark alleyway!"

Mikan shook her head. "This is getting stupid."

"You don't even know what they would've done to you, do you?" Natsume muttered, and Mikan had to strain herself to hear his voice within the now bustling crowd they were battling. The night sky stretched above them, and it would've been a lovely sight if not for all the light pollution blocking the stars.

"They were nice," Mikan frowned, "they were trying to help."

"Help themselves, more like. They weren't going to do anything nice for you, idiot."

Mikan felt her brows raise. "Stop that." She ordered.

"Stop what?" He replied irritably, his grip on her wrist still tight.

"Being like this."

"What do you want me to be like, then?"

"I'd like for you to be consistent. You're acting like you don't care but you so _obviously_ do! Why else would you go all heroic on me back there?"

His free hand ran through his hair, which she'd later learn was not always sign of nervousness or a warning for bordering a touchy subject. But more on that later. "I'm not looking out for you because I have morals."

"Then _why_?" Determination flared up within her, overcome with the urge to know the person before her. He was a mystery to her, and while everything in the whole damn world was new to her and worth exploring, Natsume Hyuuga seemed to be at the top of that list. Mikan couldn't name the force that was driving her crazy wanting to know the complexities behind Natsume – maybe it was fate.

She'd never know for sure. Not for a while, at least.

He didn't reply to her question, for they'd rounded a corner and all Mikan could see was the glittering darkness of the sea before them and Hotaru Imai talking to a woman Mikan had never seen before. Quite honestly, Natsume probably wouldn't've answered her question even if it weren't for the sudden distraction.

"Hotaru!" Mikan called, causing Hotaru to cast her eyes away from the woman and towards Mikan. Natsume's grip on her wrist loosened enough for Mikan to break free and run towards her friend. For a long minute, Hotaru just stared intently at her friend. "Hotaru!"

"Calm down, idiot, I've already had enough headaches for one day."

Mikan beamed.

"Are we all sorted?" Mikan had almost forgotten about the woman's presence – though, she could hardly be much older than Mikan herself. Even though it was dark, Mikan could make out the shoulder-length pink hair and the cheeky grin. "Hi," the woman stuck a hand out rather abruptly, "I'm Misaki Harada. It's a pleasure to finally meet ya!"

Later down the track, Mikan would come to view Misaki as a big sister. For now, though, she'd take Misaki's hand delicately and, in turn, almost have her arm shaken off.

"Where's Sumire?" Mikan turned to Hotaru, though her question was immediately answered.

"I can't believe you made me get _crab_ , Hotaru – do you know how disgusting that is?" Sumire was walking rather angrily towards the group, two plastic bags hanging from her hands. "Why can't we be civilised and eat regular food? Oh wait, we're now on the run from the law or whatever – thank you _so_ much, Hotaru."

Misaki looked amused. "Well, it's nice to meet you too, Shouda."

"Pleasure." Sumire didn't even look at her as she said this, her angry gaze resting on Hotaru. The hand holding the plastic bags shot out. "Anyway, take this before I puke all over it."

Hotaru took the bags. "I hope you were intelligent enough to realise they sold things other than crab."

"Of course I was!" That was when Sumire realised Mikan and Natsume had joined them. It was like she had turned into a completely different person in the blink of an eye. She might've even fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, hi Natsume! I see you found Mikan – I got you two some food that's _not_ crab, too, you know!"

Mikan smiled a toothy grin. "Thanks, Permy!"

Sumire's eye twitched. "What did you just call me?"

"Permy! It suits you, you know, with your curly hair."

Sumire had no time to express her extreme hate for the term – mainly because her annoying neighbour, Kokoro Yome coined the term, but there was no way Mikan could know that – because Misaki interrupted before Sumire could even open her mouth.

"We're on a schedule, remember?"

With that, they were made to follow Misaki down a long pier; the end to which anchored a boat which was no cruise ship, but not exactly a rowboat. It had a alcove under the nose which held seats big enough to sleep on, and that was all that mattered to Mikan.

The events of the evening were definitely beginning to catch up on her – she was too tired to watch the wonderful, new sight of waves crashing below her, and the place she was leaving behind get smaller and smaller as the proximity between the boat and the land grew bigger.

Curled sort-of-comfortably on one of the seats, Mikan rested her head on her too-big jacket she'd borrowed from Sumire (which was now a makeshift pillow). Just as she was drifting off, she heard Hotaru murmur something to Natsume. Something that, had Mikan not been so sleepy, she would've inquired to know more. Something that she would forget by the next morning.

"I don't think we're the only ones who want Mikan anymore."

* * *

ok… this is kind of bad but mostly because we need to get a lot of the officials out of the way. i promise it'll get a lot better with the next update. that's kind of when the ball actually starts rolling

also thank you for the reviews/faves on the last chapter! it's so nice to see what you guys have to say about this story, even if it's kind of :\ at the moment!

anyway remember to rate the update, comment the update, and subscribe if you want to see updates similar to this one


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